Cookies? Did someone say cookies?

Well, tomorrow is the offical beginning of girl scout cookie selling season. My daughter, having bridged over to Brownies this year, gets to sell those little nuggets of heaven for the first time. She's pretty excited. She's been practicing her sales pitch: "Excuse me, would like to buy some delicious girl scout cookies from me so my troop can do fun things?"

Then I say, "Uh, what kind of cookies do you have?"

Holding up her chart, "We have all these delicious cookies. We have chocolate and fat free cookies."

"Oh, fat free cookies?"

"Yeah." (Actually, they're reduced fat lemon coolers, but she's hyping the fatlessness to get some solid sales in.)

"Well, those sound delicious. I'll by seven boxes."

"Just sign your name here and thanks."

Anyway, she's pretty excited about the whole thing. She woke up this morning and said, "Mom, we are gonna stick this neighborhood!"

Since we've lived here, I've never had a girl scout come knocking on my door to sell cookies, so I told my daughter we're going to make out like bandits in this virgin territory. I hear about how the girls who live in the suburbs actually claim blocks of their neighborhoods, and any punk girl scout who crosses the line better watch her back. So I've told my daughter to keep the information about our apparently girl scoutless neighborhood on the down low. We don't want any outsiders infiltrating our hood.

On a much heavier note, I have my yearly "woman's" exam this afternoon. Yippee!! Ugh. I don't know if there's anything women dread more than the yearly pelvic exam. My doctor at least tries to make it a bearable experience by posting pictures of tropical destinations on the ceiling of the examination room. Yeah, it doesn't really help, but it's nice she thinks about it. People complain about dentists talking to you while you've got all that crap in your mouth. It's no more comfortable trying to have a conversation with someone shoving a great metal torture device up your twat, either. Sigh.